


we passed the fields of grazing grain

by ashleykay



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, F/M, Grief, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 07:39:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15680967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleykay/pseuds/ashleykay
Summary: There is many sides to grief. Anne knows this. She is not willing to let Gilbert suffer alone.Canon Divergence- what if Anne ignored dibs.





	we passed the fields of grazing grain

**Author's Note:**

> Titles from because i could not stop for death by emily dickinson
> 
> You can come see me on tumblr at gilblytheofavonlea it's mostly bare right now but I am hoping to but up smaller one shots or small continuations there.

 

  1. **at recess- in the ring**

 




She understood grief, the way it sat like a heavy tree in the heart, she had mourned and wept and shuddered under the weight.

 

But she had never really felt the sting of death. Yes, her parents had died. Mr. Hammond had died and even Mr. Thomas had died. But they felt far away from her. As if she was standing across a long lake, peering silently at things that blurred in the distance.

 

Her grief was for a different kind of loss. One borne of loneliness, of being an outsider and being the burden of death.

 

For that is what she is. A burden brought about by dying. By stuttering and living when the long shadow of Heaven stretched towards the parents that evaded her memories. Mrs. Thomas was as kind as to be expect in the wake of taking in a sallow child that wept even as a baby, as if she understood loss. Mrs. Thomas liked to mention this, had bemoaned the fate of her suffering. Spoke of the hardship of caring for a homely little thing that took to daydreaming to early and never quite got how to relent to being broke by sadness.'

 

To Mrs. Hammond, she was a different kind of burden. A girl not always quick enough at her job. Never silencing the children fast enough. Taking to long on the wash, dreaming to much and working to little. Even if her fingers were red from work, it was never enough. It was the first death she really understood. Her soft years were drained from her. She accepted then that she was little more than a servant, a thing to be used till the will from her was to be taken. But she prevailed. She stood still unbroken. A wild thing, and yet, she still grieved. She grieved for the the dreams that still came to her in sleep, of a little yellow house with soft muslin curtains. Of soft smiling faces that seemed so far away that she was sure she had made them up.

 

The asylum was a grief all it's own. She read once of a bird that someone had wanted to ensnare, to lock away. She knew that bird. She knew the cage, the net that tried to tame it. The walls of the asylum were a dull grey and the windows dirty with grime, but it was a cage all the same. Only a few hours outside and the nearly unbreathable air that soaked into the floors and walls always sat inside. She grieved for the bird, the trees, and the tamed beasts she understood so well. She grieved because of the harshness of the other girls, who knew only their own private grief. Because of their haunted eyes and cruelty and the broken way they knew only how to cause suffering, because it was all they were taught.

 

She knew the grief of being unwanted. Of being taunted. Of never knowing how to be enough for someone, for anyone.

 

She tried to ignore the memory of her first days at Green Gables. Of knowing she was unwanted yet again. Of being a mistake. It made her shudder in thought of the unknowing, the wondering if she had a place to stay. A place to belong.

 

She understood grief. To well some would say for someone so young. For someone, who seemed to find to much joy in things.

 

It was in knowing this that she watched Gilbert Blythe, saw the way his shoulders sagged when he thought no one was watching. The down turned mouth when he looked down a moment to long. Diana had whispered to her that he had come back to Avonlea with a dying father and stilted fleeing farm. And although Anne knew she should ignore him. Turn her back and look as far away as possible because for once she was on the bring of being part of something. If only she could abide by the rules. To acknowledge dibs on a person, even if she couldn't understand it. How could a person be called on? What if Gilbert didn't want Ruby? What then? Would he have no choice because no one else would go to him. Would he be forced to settle for Ruby, even if she was not his choice.

 

She had seen the angry eyes of people who married for reasons other than love. Mrs. Hammond's oldest was only months younger than her marriage. And sometimes for reasons that Anne only barely could comprehend she always kept the eyes of Mrs. Hammond when her husband had come home drunk and smelling of strange sweet smells. No, it would not do, to marry for settling.

 

But she knew something of grief. And she could not ignore it. She could not let someone suffer. She was a thing use to loneliness. And though she wanted the girls to like her. To befriend her. But at what expense. To let someone travel alone in loss.

 

She peered at Gilbert through the window at lunch through lowered eyes. Noticed the clinching of his fingers and the hard strain of his back. She should apologize for the slate. For turning her back on him after he had defended her.

 

Josie's voiced breeched her thoughts. “Are you staring at Gilbert?”

 

She felt heat on her cheeks but raised her chin defiantly, “No,” she said clearly. “I am looking at the sky. It is a lovely shade of grey and blue. I think we may get our first snowfall tonight. And won't that be scrumptious? I love the freshness of the first snow. Like it's become anew, like a bride, with all that beautiful white.”

 

The other girls murmured their agreement and the conversation tittered on about weddings and boys. But Josie caught her eyes. Anne knew that Josie could read her, that Josie knew where Anne's eyes really were.

 

Anne stared back, as if she dared Josie to call her out.

 

But she didn't and Anne slipped her eyes once again to the window. To the figure there, dark against the sky.

 

Yes, Anne thought wildly, I understand.

 

  1. **the dews quivering and chill**




 

She stayed behind after Mr. Phillips had dismissed them, lingering at the stream. She had only smiled at Diana and watched Diana's puzzled face as her friend had walked away.

 

It had been Gilbert's turn to clean the classroom. She took deep breaths and reminded herself that she had made her choice. That she must see it through.

 

No one should be alone in grief.

She thought of the girl she was, of the long dark nights, staring out of dirty windows, alone against things she could not control.

 

No, she thought with a lump in her throat, this was right.

 

She felt the tickle of sensation at being watched. She turned to see Gilbert looking at her, his face puzzled and warm.

 

“Why are you still here?” He was walking towards her but stopped suddenly. “Or am I still not suppose to be talking to you?”

 

She felt wordless, which she wasn't use to, so she shook her head and pushed forward. “I am sorry. I shouldn't have been so cruel.” She recalled the sound of the slate hitting his head and felt so much shame, she had once promised that she would never be violent. She would not raise her hand like the asylum girls had, like Mr. Hammond had. She knew so well the sting of hands and switches and bruises. “I should never have hit you. Never have ignored you. You were kind to me. And I mistreated you.” The words fell, she thought like teardrops.

 

He came closer, stopping when he was almost too close to her. “Forgiven.” He grinned, but she noticed the thing that lay behind it.

 

She shook her head again. “No, don't forgive me so easily. Not without an explaination of sorts. I have done you wrong. Treated you terribly and for that I should be made to pay. To be punished in some way-” she was cut off by his hand on her chin. His fingers were wet.

 

She hadn't realized she was crying.

 

“I think I should get to decide how easy I forgive. And I say, forgiven, Anne with an e.” She felt relief that he hadn't mentioned her tears. For she didn't know how to explain them away.

 

“At least let me explain, or try to-” she stuttered on the cold air. “I don't have friends.” She bit it off suddenly.

 

He tilted his head as he gazed at her.

 

She shivered and pushed on. “I mean, I do now, or Diana is my friend.” She tripped over the words, which she had not thought possible, she was so good with words, but it felt suddenly so important to find the right ones. The ones that would be understood, not just large ones, not just big ideas but understated thoughts, unspoken ones. And those words seemed lost to her. She breathed deeply and tried again. “Before. Before I came here. I had no friends. I was lonely and alone. And those are very different things. But I was both.” She chanced a look at him and saw the understanding in his eyes.

 

His fingers had dropped to his side moments ago but she saw them twitch and she knew he was holding back on touching her.

 

“And I came here and only Diana seemed to like me. I mean, besides Matthew and Marilla. Billy hates me-”  
  


He interrupted her. “Billy is a bully and a cad.”

She offered him a small smile and continued. “Yes. But before you came, he was,” she struggled for the right word, “the leader, I guess. And because he and Josie didn't like me, I wasn't” she paused remembering those first days of school.

 

“Liked.” He supplied.

 

She nodded. “Only Diana and she was being shunned in a way because of me. And then you came, you came and you helped me. And I thought here is another friend, if only I can do this right. But I was told by the other girls I couldn't speak to you. That-” here she paused again. She knew couldn't name Ruby, for the girl would be humiliated if she found out what Anne had done.”someone, one of the girls, it doesn't matter who, had called dibs on you.”

 

“Dibs?” His eyebrow quirked.

 

“Uhh, like had spoken for you. She likes you.”She could not help the blush. “She said that we couldn't talk and when I tried to say I didn't understand, that it was friendship I wanted. They ignored me. And you kept talking to me and they thought I was trying to- I don't know- make you like me. Which is ridiculous.”

 

“Is it?” Again his fingers twitched and his eyes shadowed.

 

“Yes, I mean, why would you care- I mean like me?” She shrugged. Tried so hard to seem okay with being unwanted, not quite good enough. “And I just wanted to belong. I just wanted to be-”

 

“Liked.” he said again.

 

And again she nodded. “But you kept trying. And when you pulled my hair-”

 

He interrupted again. “I am sorry for that.”

 

“How could you know? Why, I mean, that I was ignoring you?”

 

“Still.”

 

“I should have just told you. Like now. Should have explained.” She felt the tears filling her up again.

 

“Well, yes you should have. Because I could have told you, I don't care who called dibs on me. I am free to like and care and talk to whomever I choose. Including you. You who I like just fine and who is worth liking. And if that girl, whoever she is, really cared for me, she would not deny me having whatever friends I choose.” Now his hand did rise and sweep across her braid. “And I choose to be friends with Anne Shirley Cuthbert. If that's alright with you.” It wasn't a question. But she did have an answer.

 

“I would like that very much. I could never have to many friends.” The tears sunk back into her.

 

“Good, now friend, if it is alright with you, I can walk you home and we can talk about our studies or anything else you should tell me.”

 

She grinned and nodded and followed him on the path to home.

 

  1. **feels shorter than the day**

 




His father took sicker on a Tuesday, the snow had settled nice and deep around the town, each day dawned with a fresher slicker path .

 

On this Tuesday, he had not met her by the large Blythe tree that had become their spot. She had stayed for awhile but soon had wandered on to Diana, glancing back often.

 

She had waited anxiously for him to come in late. But she felt sure in her chest that she knew why he had not come. And the sudden burn of sadness would not leave her.

 

She tried to get through the day. The knot in her belly growing with each passing hour. She sat and barely touched her lunch as Josie glared at her.

 

Josie had take her friendship with Gilbert harder than Ruby had. Ruby had simply nodded and giggled and said that now she could get more information on Gilbert with Anne being close to him. But Josie seemed to take it as a personal affront. But Anne could not think of it now. She could only see Gilbert in his warmest sweater, tending to his father. To his kind, funny father that had welcomed her into his home and sipped tea while telling her stories of Gilbert and travel. She suddenly pictured John as she had last seen him, leaned in close to her and a stage whisper of a tale about Gilbert as a child that had made Gilbert blush and her laugh.

 

And she knew, had known how sick Gilbert's father was. That he hadn't really had long. Still it seemed to sudden. To much to bare. And if that is how she felt. She could not imagine, even with her wonderful imagination, how her friend would be feeling.

 

She had whispered to Diana that she was going to Gilbert's after school let out and there was no need to walk with her home. Diana had nodded, understanding and said nothing more about it. As if she had know how important it was to Anne. How at the moment the usual teasing tone would only wound Anne more.

 

So Anne had bolted when classes ended. She did not know she could go so fast as she did rounding the way to the Blythes' house.

 

She made the knock, bouncing from foot to foot, and when it opened she bit back her tears. Her Gilbert was hollow eyed. Dark circles around the bottom of his eyes. And his usual teasing look, seemed gone and never to return.

 

“I know I missed today. But...” His voice was raw.

 

She shook her head. “You didn't miss much.” She offered. “But I wanted to see you anyway. I worried.”

 

He moved so she could come in. And she heard his father coughing in the back. She still said nothing. She simply took his hand in hers and stood next to him.

 

“The doctor said it is only a matter of time now.” His eyes were closed and she knew he had his own tears holding back. She wished she could tell him that it was okay to cry. That she would keep it to herself and hold on to it for him. But she was afraid to speak, to say the wrong thing.

Instead she squeezed his hand and let him breath.

 

Finally he spoke again. “I don't know what to do.”

 

She didn't either. But she wished she did, for all the words she knew. For all the stories and poems. She had nothing to really give. Nothing but her hand in his.

 

She swallowed and spoke. “I am here. Whatever you need. I am here.”

 

Tears made rivers across his face. “You are here. You are. You are with me, Anne-Girl.”

 

“Yes.” she whispered. Not letting go of his hand. She pulled him to her. He bent to her and let his head rest on her shoulder. It grew wet and he trembled. But she did not let go. Not of his hand and not of him. “Yes.” She said again. And again. Like a lullaby and prayer in one.

 

“I am with you.” she crooned to him. “I am with you.”

 

  1. **i could not stop for death**




 

It was a Tuesday when John died. And a Tuesday when he was buried. She felt that Tuesdays would never look the same to her.

 

She had stood by him after his father had died and had wanted to stand beside him as he buried him. But propriety had bid her to be by her own family. Marilla's eyes had been misty for the week leading here. She had been solemn and almost lost since she had learned of John's death.

 

She felt for her dearest Marilla but she could not keep her eyes from Gilbert. His slumped shoulders and his heavy eyes. He looked as he had that day when she had held him as he wept. Only older and sharper.

 

It made something she could not name in her ache.

 

He would never be quite the same Gilbert again. And it was here that her eyes burned and filled with tears. She did not hold them back. If there was anywhere she could weep it was here. It was for the Gilbert of old and the one made anew. It was for Marilla and lost chances and for John who had lived and died and could be no more but a memory that was still and faded.

 

Matthew's had rubbed her back and she shudder and tried to make no noise. In the second pew, Ruby wept openly and loudly. It made her angry at her friend. Ruby hadn't know John, not really, she was crying for Gilbert. But not that really either. But it wasn't right. Not now, and not Ruby. But still Anne swallowed up her fury. It would not do to make a scene.

 

After John was buried and the earth was moved for him. She had stayed behind. She felt as she did that day so long ago, waiting by the schoolhouse for him.

 

And again she had nothing of consequence to say. Only herself to offer. But she gave to him freely what ever he could take of her. She again took his hand, the snow falling and melting on them. No words would come this time. She bit them back and suppressed every shiver that tried to come. She would stay. She would not leave him. Not even if he did not leave all night. She would not let him go back to his lonely house and weep alone. She had promised him that she was here. She had in her own way sang it to him. Lulling him into peace with it. And she could not break it now.

 

“I don't know what to do.” He said at last.

 

She didn't either. It was a grief she didn't understand. “Me either.” She said to the air.

 

“Thank you for not saying sorry. I am tired of sorry.”

 

She nodded. She was sorry but it was for something more or maybe less than she could say. “He loved you fiercely.” As I do she thought, it came from nowhere, that stray little thought, but she meant it. As fiercely as she did Diana or her family. She loved him. “I do to.”

 

The tears came down his face. But he didn't look at her. “As do I.” He said. “I am not alone.”

 

“No.” She leaned to him. “Never that.”

 

They stayed till dark. They left footprints across the graves and footprints through the orchard and footprints to his door.

 

“I am glad for you, Anne. So glad for you.” His eyes were still as black as his coat. But he was strangely beautiful in his sadness. And Anne nodded.

 

“And me for you, Gil.”

 

And one set of footprints led back to Green Gables.

 

  1. **he kindly stopped for me**




 

Gilbert had decided to leave on a Tuesday and it seemed fitting for the day. Having to say goodbye even for a good reason, battered at her.

 

“I will miss you.” She had said, when he told her. She had cried so much lately. She could not bare to again.

 

“I will miss you, too, Anne-Girl.” He had tugged on her braid. And it had caused a cautious smile.

 

Now here she was, seeing him off at the train station. She would not be able to write him where he was going. She would not be able to see him at their tree or beat him at spelling.

 

She felt lonely. Lost.

 

But she knew she could not ask him to stay. Instead she had written him a letter, long and sloppy, because she could not let him go without saying something, anything. She could not let him go without saying everything.

 

“This is for you.” She thrust the letter at him. “For your trip. I can not write while you are away. But I can give you this now. And you can read it whenever you want and pretend it is new.”

 

“Thank you.” He ran his finger over his name on the envelope. “I shall carry it with me, wherever I go. Then you will see all the places I travel. You will go with me.” His smile to her was firm but sad.

 

She reached for him. Hugged him tight and watched him disappear in the train. “Come back someday.” She yelled. He eyed her through the window, grinned and nodded.

 

He would, she knew come back to her, to home, to their tree. And she would be there, waiting for him.

 


End file.
